Living Nightmares
by Sanzo4ever
Summary: Everyone has demons & the past does not always sleep peacefully...why would it when it can haunt your footsteps? rated for mild language


This piece is dedicated to the oh-so-wonderful people kind enough to review my first fanfic, "Rain": S.O.F, Khait Khepri, Midnite, omemai, EmmaTheSpottedBat, & Jack Sparrow's Stalker—you guys gave me the confidence to continue. Thank you all so much & I'm sorry for disappearing for almost 2 years! (Writer's block is a b-…well it sucks. Big time. I will never get on any author's case about it ever again…)

Disclaimer: I do not own Saiyuki or its characters. What a pity…

_**~ RED ~ **_

It was everywhere, surrounding him, suffocating him. Scarlet, fire, ruby, crimson: it didn't matter what you called it; it was still just red. Red like blood… And the whole damn room was the same. It was always the same: a small, dimly lit chamber barely too far beyond the main temple grounds…just out of help's reach. The light from the candles flickered ominously, their red flames giving the room an eerie appearance. Even the shadows had a dark rusty tint as they danced in the twinkling candlelight.

It would almost be better if there were no light at all! Those damn candles and their creepy glow only made everything worse. He dreaded this place—this horrible red room. He had to get away, far away, but his feet refused to listen to his brain. The anxiety and suspense continued to build in his chest, yet his feet kept on their agonizingly slow journey further into the chamber. Even the storm raging outside seemed to be against him. Raindrops pounded the roof overhead with a vicious, driving force similar to that of bullets. Powerful winds shrieked and howled as if the walls were made of rice paper. Something bad was going to happen—he just _knew_ it. Eyes wide and wary, he scanned the room, watching…waiting…

There was the big urn in the far corner off to his left. It had been there for as long as he could remember and was well worn with age. A soft tan color during the day, it was now a dark, brick-colored hue. Blemishes that were barely visible in the sunlight were now ominously pronounced in the dim light. Shallow cracks and lines scored its sides, as if the urn had been cut open, covered in bloody scratches. Damn those candles and their hellish light! It was like fuckin' claw marks on a corpse…

…claw marks…on a corpse…

Swiftly turning his head away from the urn, he turned his attention to the opposite end of the room. At the base of the far right wall sat a few small pots, each with their cloth covers tied on securely. They too had small gashes, but none were scored as deeply or as noticeably as the urn. But…those droplets…there, on the cloth tops…they _couldn't_ be…blood?…No, no—it was just those damn candles again. There— up in the windowsill, above the pots. Not only did they have to give off an eerie light, but the bastards even had the audacity to drip wax everywhere, like little drops of blood…

Wrenching his eyes away, he focused on the back of the room, where his feet seemed determined to take him. A small square table was set almost touching the back wall. Atop it was the largest damn candle he had seen yet. Taller and wider than the little ones scattered about the rest of the room, its flame was bigger and brighter than all the others— the color a deeper red than any he had ever seen. To either side of it, a pair of incense sticks burned, their dully glowing tips accenting the main candle.

Finally, his feet halted, bringing him to a stop directly in front of the small table. The sickly sweet smell of incense flooded his nostrils; he felt like he was choking, so ruthlessly overwhelming was its aroma. As it was, he barely managed to keep himself from gagging. Even worse, he could see the tendrils of smoke that curled lazily away from the sticks, and spread, straying out into the rest of the room like thin, ghostly snakes. The damn things were also a faded, pale red…If the smoke was more concentrated, he knew it would be just as bright a red as those stupid_, damn_ candle flames.

Why did every single _blasted_ thing in the room have to be red? Deep down, he knew the answer, but as it evaded him in a mental fog of mystery, he could do nothing but silently curse the infernal prison. Whenever he let his guard down, it ensnared him; should he forget about it, it reappeared instantly to remind him. Every time he was able to distract himself and shift his focus elsewhere, it would recapture and torture him with this horrible waiting and sense of dread. He would never admit that he was scared. He didn't _get_ scared. Startled occasionally, perhaps, but scared? Never. That just wasn't who he was. And yet this room, this hellish place, was able to fill him with so much foreboding and outright apprehension. Even though he knew what would happen, it always caught him off guard. Each time it was somehow shocking— as if it had never happened before. Each time, the pain was just as fresh, just as new, and just as agonizing.

So there he was, waiting. Although the sight of the sparsely furnished chamber sickened him and the incense nauseated him, he couldn't budge. His feet remained firmly planted to the ground, as though rooted to the spot. If _only _he had control over his own body, he'd have never approached this room in the first place. Suddenly, the room was filled with the bright, white-blue flash of a lightning bolt, and his heart seemed to stop in his chest. Within seconds, deafening booms of thunder rolled overhead, the intensity sending vibrations into his feet from the floor, seemingly restarting his circulatory system. He could hear his blood pounding relentlessly in his ears as he squinted at the wall, trying to reassure himself that he had been mistaken. No, he had _not_ seen it; it was just a momentary illusion from the lightning. Slowly, vivid violet eyes adjusted to the darkness once more. There was no horizontal stain of droplets on the wall; the line of blood had been imaginary. He would have sighed with relief, but the feeling of dread hadn't passed. The worst had yet to come.

Another blue flash lit up the room, and with it the stain reappeared on the wall. This time, however, it did not fade with thunder's roar. He blinked once, then again, but there it stayed, a grotesque imitation of a slit throat. His heart beat faster as his uneasy anticipation escalated. What was he waiting for, that could fill him with such intense anxiety? He knew that he knew, but the answer continued to evade his overstressed mind.

Another burst of lightning came, giving him another chance to refocus and prove to himself that he was merely overreacting, that there was truly nothing wrong— that there was nothing to see. As the white glare faded from his sight, he noticed a warm, wet sensation at his feet. The pungent smell of blood saturated the air. Against his will, his gaze fell to the floor. His pale bare feet were a stark contrast to the dark red liquid in which he stood. A small trickle continued to seep into the puddle, coming from somewhere off to his right. Ignoring his instinct's desperate pleas otherwise, his head turned to look for the source.

There, not five steps away, was a large figure lying on the ground. He gagged as the stench_ permeating _the air intensified, stinging his nostrils. As if silently asking for help, a bloodied hand lay outstretched towards him; just beyond its reach, a simple gold crown lay overturned, its formerly spotless, white head cloth now splattered with red. Lightning flared again, temporarily blinding him. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness once more, the demonic candles re-illuminated the gruesome sight, burning the bloody display into every corner of his mind**.** Panic constricted his throat, the ability to breathe fleeing to follow his vanished voice. Once-friendly, light brown orbs were now vacant and glassy, staring blankly up at his own frantic amethyst ones. The formerly pristine white robe was dyed a bright crimson made even more sinister by the dim red light cast upon it. Four burgundy stripes stretched diagonally over the chest, shredding the woven reed chest plate. Red streaks highlighted the long, mousy brown hair and trickled in rivulets over the smooth skin.

Silent screams echoed through his mind, but violet irises remained riveted on the familiar fallen figure. He had barely noticed the tears prickling at the edges of his eyes before they overflowed, becoming rivers raging down his deathly pale cheeks. His heart felt as if it had been stabbed with a long, jagged, rusty dagger, but still he couldn't voice his pain aloud. The high winds outside howled angrily and the sound of the rain on the roof tiles overhead pounded in his ears as if to blame him for the death. Jumping slightly at the deafening boom of thunder, he was finally freed of his forced paralysis.

He couldn't stay here; the grisly, heart-wrenching scene was too much. He had to get away from this damned red room. Anywhere would do—_anywhere_ but here. Time seemed to slow down to an agonizingly sluggish pace as he turned on his heel to flee the gory chamber. As he pivoted he could see more red smears and spatters about the room; it was as if someone had decided to decorate the wall with blood. Once the shoji doors were in sight, he froze again, breath stolen by the ominous shape standing there. Both doors had been slashed apart, their broken frames littering the entryway. The wreckage was unimportant, however, compared to what lay beyond. Against his will, the very edges of his sight began to blur and blacken, as if to narrow his field of vision down to focus on the foreboding figure standing behind the debris.

Long, pointed ears stuck out from a head that sported short, spiked hair close-cropped to the scalp. The stained remains of a loose, ragged t-shirt flapped lightly about the skinny torso. Long, thin arms hung down from broad shoulders and held the hands away from the body so they wouldn't brush the fraying fabric of their clothes. Each hand's fingers were spread wide, impossibly long, claw-like fingernails extended for the world to see. His fast-fading eyesight was immediately drawn to the demon's left hand, where something was dripping from the four longest nails. Four claws coated in some watery substance…four deep slashes across his master's corpse… Fighting the darkness about to overwhelm him, he strained to identify it. No features were visible on its heavily shadowed face, save the red gleam of the candlelight upon the wide, fanged grin. With that manic smile, the silhouette turned and ran out into the rain. He tried to take one step forwards, as if to follow the creature, the monster that killed his master, but his legs buckled underneath him. Darkness engulfed him as he fell towards the wooden floor…

s-s-s-s-s-a-a-a-a-a-n-n-n-n-n-z-z-z-z-z-o-o-o-o-o-4-e-e-e-e-e-v-v-v-v-v-e-e-e-e-e-r-r-r-r-r

_Panting, he shot up from the bed, amethyst eyes wide open and panicky. Sweat-slicked hands waved wildly before grabbing a hold of the sheets that clung to him like a second skin. His chin tilted down, almost to the point of touching his chest as he desperately soaked up the atmosphere. The red chamber was gone; he was sitting hunched over in the bed of his white-walled hotel room. There was no blood, no body, no shadowy beast waiting to kill beyond the door. Well, if there was a murderer lying in wait, they had missed their opportunity; now conscious, there was no way he was returning to the hellish land of nightmares any time soon. Wide awake and wary, any and all stupid demon assassins would have a bullet through their skulls before they had a chance to spout one word of their annoying "We're-going-to-kill-you_-_and-take-the-Scripture" speeches. Finally calm and controlled once more, he extracted himself from the tangled bedspread and walked over to sit on the wide windowsill._

_Brushing damp, golden bangs away from his face, he surveyed the scenery beyond the glass with weary eyes. There wasn't much to see, as the darkness of the early morning still blanketed everything. This darkness didn't unnerve him though; it was the calm, comforting kind that whispered of peaceful solitude, not the pitch-black type that seemed to smother everything it touches. Last night's storm had petered off into a light drizzle that, from the look of the clouds, would end fairly soon. Off in the distance, the barest hint of dawn had begun to lighten the edges of the sky, creating a thin, pale halo around the tall mountains. The beauty of the majestic morning meant nothing to him; all that mattered was the promise of an end to the rain, a thought that filled him with relief. He hadn't dreamed vividly like that in a long time; it must have been because of the storm._

_Turning slightly, he reached down with his left hand to grab the lighter and pack of Marlboro cigarettes lying on the small table between him and the bed. Selecting one, he raised it to his lips and lit up; the half-empty box was thoughtlessly pushed into the back pocket of his jeans and the lighter remained lightly clasped in his hand. He glanced around the room, as if to reassure his mind before settling his gaze on the white monk's robe draped over the chair in the opposite corner. It had no red stains—it was all white with just a little bit of tan near the bottom from dust kicked up during his travels. His gaze then shifted to the small, rolled up scripture lying on the bedside table. There were so many memories…and all because of one stupid roll of parchment. Good or bad, there wasn't much use worrying over them since no one can change the past. He returned his attention to the window, beyond which the rain was barely sprinkling, a light blue sky could be seen in the distance, and the mountains had pale pink edges._

_And so the man smoked in the serene silence of the sunrise._

**A/N:**

I'm so…'content' with the way this turned out. First of all, my goal was to have it be at least 1000 words…and I doubled it~! Second, I'm fairly certain that my detailed descriptions allow anyone who knows Saiyuki to identify the characters without me actually mentioning names.

So…comments? Critiques? (Please?) Only the first half of this was edited by someone other than myself…so I apologize if the last half is less-than-decent. I think I may have gone a little overboard with adjectives, so please let me know if you think I got a little too (unnecessarily) wordy. Also, do people like or dislike the fact I don't use names?

Reviews are much appreciated!

**~Sanzo4ever**


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